Hobbies
by The Artistes
Summary: They all have hobbies. It's a good way to take their minds off of the dangerous lives they lead. But some are more interesting than others...


**A/n:** The musician I was listening to while writing this is Agnes Obel, more specifically her song Aventine. Give it a listen if you want, but this isn't a songfic. I just like her music.

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They all have hobbies. It's a good way to take their minds off of the dangerous lives they lead, though it's very easy to link what they do in their spare time to what they do while saving the world.

Tony is a tinkerer. He had been before he was Iron Man, and before the Avengers came to live in his tower. He's always constructing little gadgets to make their lives easier, be it easy transport aqualungs, traceless trackers, or a toaster that has a dozen personal toasting settings. That one came about after Natasha fashioned her burnt toast into a throwing star and threatened him with it.

Bruce and Tony often work together, though Bruce focuses mainly on splitting atoms and creating serums. It soothes _the other guy_ to make medical advancements while not smashing things.

Steve volunteers at a children's center, always the good guy, focusing on promoting physical fitness and healthy lifestyle choices. He's also doing his best to understand this strange new world called the 21st century.

Thor isn't always on Earth, but when he is he spends his time with Jane, learning her scientific ways. In the other realms he restores peace and justice, but it's not done on Earth, so you could suppose it counts as a hobby.

Clint and Natasha remind their teammates daily that they're not heroes, they're spies. They leave for weeks without word, then turn up on the doorstep of the Avengers Tower with fresh coffee and doughnuts for all as if they hadn't just toppled a mafia or reigned in a tyrant. Or, on the very few bad missions, the Avengers team rushes to the SHIELD crew hospital to find one of them in surgery while the other is caught between tears and fisticuffs. Clint learned the first time that tears in front of Tony Stark isn't the way to go and now resigns himself to battering something senseless. Their hobbies as removed from their roles on Avenger team as they are.

Natasha dances and Clint plays for her.

They could practice alone, they always say, but where would the fun be in that? They're partners. Knowing your partner in every aspect of their life is the diligent thing to do.

Tony has been placing bets since the first time he saw them together after Loki's rampage on New York. He's certain they're more than partners, but Natasha figured out how to disconnect Jarvis' camera connection to her quarters on day one at the Tower and he has no proof.

They practice in the sparring room where the walls are soundproofed, that way their teammates don't come running at the sound of music. They seem to think it's funny when Natasha plays the part of a dainty dancer and Clint the soulful musician. Clint has a whole locker to himself full of instruments that he's been teaching himself to strum, toot and bang. The stringed ones are his favorite, his violin and cello are treasured. It's not a surprise, he strums on them the same way he strums his bow in battle. He sits at the center of the mats where there is blood from a time when Bruce accidentally broke Steve's nose, blast marks from Tony's suit and melted rubber from Thor's electricity, and Clint plays as Natasha dances around him.

She dances ballet, though some of the moves are questionable – she'll throw a kick or shoot her fist out as if to defend herself from an attacker. She doesn't wear a tutu, Tony would tear her apart if she did, but she insists on wearing white when she dances, a beautiful dress with a skirt that flows when she spins. It's a pure dream, she claims, the life she never had.

Clint can't deny that part of the reason why he insists on practicing with her is so that he can watch her. She's ethereal, like something out of this world, her white dress on white skin against red hair. He thinks to himself sometimes how innocent she looks, then kicks himself after. Natasha is dangerous. What he thinks and feels is dangerous.

Pepper likes to watch too. She's the Tower mother, apart from being Tony's assistant and girlfriend. After the team's battles she soothes the aches and burns of war and puts them to bed with warm milk and cookies like they're five years old. She always knows what's going on in the house, even without Jarvis's help, and she has a sixth sense for her two favorite spies. Only favorite spies, really.

Pepper hadn't liked Natasha at first, back when Natasha was Natalie, interested in Stark industries and an interest of Tony's. Now that she has met Clint Barton, she understands (and grateful for) Natasha's disinterest in the superhero. Hawkeye was everything a superhero should be, without the morale. They suit each other very well, if only the two of them would see it.

So Pepper watches, waiting.

She takes care to check where Clint's eyes are looking – not that she's worried about being found out, they're two master assassins, she knows they sense her presence – because he's only ever focusing on two things when he plays. When his gaze is on his music, he plays stiffly, paying too much attention to the next note, the next bar. When his gaze is on his partner, he loosens and plays so much infinitely better by just reading her next step, her next spin. Pepper wants to take away his sheet music sometime, to see if he can play an entire song by simply watching his partner.

Natasha relies on him as well. Pepper likes it most when Natasha breaks that invisible wall between the musician and the dancer, teetering over to him on her toes to run a finger down his cheek and along his jaw, turning her hands into a fluttering bird, or when she uses his shoulder as an aid in a jump or a sturdy post to spin beside. He's solid as a rock, never missing a beat as he gazes up at her with a look that only the two of them can understand. Or, perhaps that only he can understand. Pepper wonders if Natasha knows the effect she has on her partner.

Sometimes Bruce and Steve come watch as well and, while she is too mesmerised by the movement, the two men comment on the skill.

'See that?' Steve says, proud of his team as ever as Clint suddenly strikes a high note and Natasha doesn't falter, in the air with a jump the moment he hits it. 'They do this in battle too, I've seen them do it.'

'What?' Pepper tears herself away.

'They're reading each other's movements. It's a battle strategy, to know what your enemy is going to do next, but they've turned it into a dance that works on the floor and in the field.'

Afterwards, Pepper takes notice. It takes a trained eye to spot that slight pull of muscle in Clint's forearm, barely a ripple under his skin, to know when he's going to play a certain note, to spot the exact position Natasha takes before raising an arm or a leg or throwing herself into the air. He tugs, she spins, he releases, she jumps, he stills, she stills.

Pepper can see how this works for them in battle, they know each other down to the very fiber of their beings and can read each other in milliseconds.

'I can play for you.' Pepper steps forward one day.

Clint glares her down, how dare she try to take his place. Natasha glances at the woman wearily.

'I mean, I've heard that you fight so elegantly, I imagine it's a little like dancing. I'd like to see you dance. Together.' Pepper makes herself clear.

There's a moment where Clint stares over at Natasha and Natasha stares at her hands, but the dancer finally looks up at her musician, tiptoeing over to him to place a hand on his shoulder.

'I've never danced with a partner, but if you think it's so much like fighting, I'm sure we can manage.' She says, pulling him to his reluctant feet.

'Do you play cello?' He asks Pepper, gesturing to the instrument already set up.

'No, but I play a little piano.'

Tony has a piano for no other reason than to amuse people with his smashings. He doesn't know how to play and most likely never will. It's a toy for when he's drunk, he likes to trip over to the keys and tinkle senselessly until Pepper comes to take it away.

They are a drole group when drunk. Of course, the Norse God isn't so easily intoxicated, though he delights in teasing his fellow teammates and Jane (when she visits, that is) for their inability to hold their drink; and the Captain and Bruce have the sense not to drink too much, the former for propriety, the latter because of _the_ _other guy_. But Tony, Clint and Natasha can get drunk enough for everyone. Tony was brought up on the luxuries of life and only has the best alcohol around. His favorite drunk is Clint, they're nearly the same person, each hiding personal issues beneath layers of stony looks and sarcasm. Under the influence, they laugh together and they're always trying to challenge their other teammates to silly competitions, though let it be known that Clint is just as good with a bow drunk as he is sober. He likes to show off. Natasha becomes even sexier, if that's possible, smiling cheekily, eyes lidded heavily and seeming human for once. When Pepper makes Tony stop smashing on the piano, Natasha usually slips into his place, grinning smugly as she tinkles through a Tchaikovsky or a Shostakovich without fault, despite the amount of alcohol in her system. She likes to show off too.

Clint is always smiling after, stumbling over to her to say, 'Nat, you're brilliant. Where'd you learn to do that?'

'I'm well practiced in many arts.' She will grin, relidding the keys for the night.

'The art of killing, the art of dance, the art of music – can you sing as well? You can be my little bird.'

Pepper likes the parties, if only for seeing the team interact without the weight of the world on their shoulders.

The grand piano is up in the main living room, a great Grotrian-Steinweg that is far too heavy to push to the sparring room. They leave it where it is, Pepper set up at the stool with Clint and Natasha standing face to face in the center of the room, all offending furniture set off to the side where neither will trip over them.

Pepper starts off slowly with a simple song they all know, uncertain of her skills, it's been a while since she last played. The two spies are equally hesitant, both unsure of themselves in each other's arms. Usually there is some space between them, enough to stick a blade at least, and now Natasha can feel Clint's large, warms hands – the ones he reserves for his instruments and bow – at her hip as he slowly walks her in a circle on her toe. It's never worrying when she goes over to him to touch his face or lean on his shoulder. She wonders if he is as distracted by her as she is by him, but shakes the thought away. A little inkling of hope remains.

At the sound of the piano being played everyone comes rushing, pulled from odd jobs around the Tower to see who is making the noise. It isn't Tony, not harsh enough, and it isn't Natasha, not soft enough.

Tony whistles and goes to kiss Pepper, knowing that she had something to do with this coming about. Bruce smiles, even _the other one_ recognises beauty when he sees it. Steve claps, knowing that his teammates need the encouragement. Thor wonders how Natasha and Clint, the two toughest mortals he knows, can one minute be fighting wars, the next spinning softly.

Pepper is distracted by Tony's kisses and misses a note, calling out apologies as she loses her place. The two dancers hardly notice, familiar with the song, and continue their movements without her music, slowing just a little for Pepper to catch up.

The ceiling is fairly high for a living space, but still short enough that if Clint lifts her high enough, she'll put her head through the panels. He's wary of this as he lifts her, not lifting as high as he can, her foot planted solidly on the palm of his hand, the other resting heavy on the back of her thigh to anchor her there. Natasha is aware of the ceiling too, and arcs back with her arms stretched out overhead, skimming the surface.

They dance as though they fight, but without the stinging wounds.

Clint rests his forehead on her knee for a beat, and she can feel his strength in the touch. He doesn't shake at the exertion of dancing with her. She breathes in quickly and he drops his hands away, snapping to her waist to catch her from her fall. She places her hands on his forearms, feeling the clench of muscles and the rush of blood under her fingers. She knows he's going to spin her before he acts, readying herself with another quick breath.

He tugs, she spins, he releases, she jumps, he stills, she stills.

The other members of the Avengers clap and whistle and look at each other knowingly. Natasha can barely hear them, eyes on her partner as she tries to steady her racing heart. She feels as though he's looking straight into her and she immediately turns away to glance at their teammates, reaching out a hand to steady herself on Clint's shoulder. He places his hands at her waist and they burn through her dress, a sufficient distraction from whatever jibe Tony is throwing their way.

Clint leans down to kiss her forehead and she can feel it in every ounce of her.

There's the stinging wound.

Would it be alright to have him? Natasha toys with him sometimes, a simple touch on his chest or cheek, but when he holds the power she feel like a weak, swooning woman in his arms. She doesn't like the feeling, but she likes him. There's a danger there, the danger of losing him. But she wants him so entirely it nearly overwhelms all other thought.

He turns away to Pepper, but his hands stay hot on her skin.

'Thank you.' He says sincerely.

'Not a problem.' Pepper smiles at the healthy flush they've both taken on. 'I'll play another.' She flips the page, watching them come together at the sound of the first note.

Perhaps if she keeps playing, they'll finally give in.

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x**Gilly**


End file.
